


In Memory

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Gen, the Gil-galad son of Maglor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrimbor offers his cousin three powerful gifts. (Set in the second age, in the AU that has been floating around Tumblr in which Gil-galad is Maglor's son, rather than Fingon's or Orodreth's.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memory

“They are yours if you want them, my King. In memory of - ” he stopped. “I mean… as a token. Of the loyalty of the people of Eregion.”

Celebrimbor lowered his head as he offered his open hand to Gil-galad, the three rings reflecting the light of the dancing flames in the hearth. They almost seemed to burn with an inner fire of their own, he thought, the stones like embers glowing red, blue and brightest silver. He looked up again, studying Gil-galad’s face, almost absurdly apprehensive. He told himself it was merely the love of his craft, now under close scrutiny, that made his heart leap into his throat at the sight of Gil-galad’s face. Expertly, he blocked from his consciousness the sight, or at least the recognition, of the long straight nose, the thick, distinctively arching eyebrows. He was practiced at the art of ignoring those familiar features. He did it every day, whenever he caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror, or a distorted reflection caught on polished metal in his workroom.

Gil-galad was staring at the rings in Celebrimbor’s open palm. He reached out a hand, as if about to touch them, but paused, his fingers frozen in midair just above Celebrimbor’s hand.

“Fire” Gil-galad said quietly, his fingers brushing the red ring. “Water.” He touched the blue. “Air?” he darted what Celebrimbor thought was certainly an involuntary glance out of the window, where a white star could be seen through a gap in the clouds, low in the sky at this hour, glimmering just above the flat ocean horizon. He looked at Celebrimbor, scrutinising his face.

“ _In memory_ , you said.” 

“No, Ereinion, I did not mean - ”

“But that’s what you said. And don’t call me that.”

Celebrimbor returned his gaze, defiant. “Will you take them?”

Gil-galad appeared to consider. Then he picked up the rings, one by one, and slowly slipped them onto the fingers of his right hand. “ _Three_ ” he whispered, as if to himself. Then he turned back to Celebrimbor, his face hardening. “What do you think you are doing? You’re not him. I mean… you’re not your father, and you’re certainly not your grandfather. And that is a good thing. What are you doing? I thought you had renounced all of that?”

Celebrimbor frowned. “I have. These rings are all my own creation. I owe our family nothing.”

Gil-galad winced. “Don’t be a child. Do you not realise what this looks like?”

Celebrimbor did not answer.

“It looks like you are trying to take the same path. A dangerous path. Nothing good will come of this.”

“Gil-galad” said Celebrimbor gently. “Nothing good will come of denying who I am – who  _we_ both are – either. But that was not why I made these. They have power. We can protect - ”

But he was cut off as Gil-galad’s hand suddenly shot out, quick and silent as a snake, striking him across the face. Beads of blood began to well up from three shallow cuts on his cheek. Gil-galad lifted his hand before his eyes and they both stared at the three rings, in shock. Then Gil-galad sank backwards into the armchair behind him, leaning forward over his knees, his face buried in his hands. “Forgive me” he muttered, not looking at Celebrimbor. “I don’t know what…” he tailed off, staring at the floor. There was a long silence, as Gil-galad sat motionless, and Celebrimbor watched him, heedless of the blood now clotting on his cheek.

Finally Gil-galad stood up, slowly. “Cousin” he said heavily, “I cannot keep these. You are not your father, just as I am not mine, and just as neither of us are  _him_.”

“But…” Celebrimbor struggled for words. “The rings. They are different. They can keep our people safe.”

“I know. That is why I will keep this one” – he slipped off the red and the white rings, passing them back to Celebrimbor as he held up his hand which still bore the blue ring – “to protect them. And in memory of my father.” He looked out of the window again at the sea. “Wherever he may be.”

“And the others?”

“Do with them as you will. But if you want my opinion, they must be split up. I would recommend you give one to Círdan, for he will keep it safe, and do good with it.”

“And what about the other?”

Gil-galad thought for a moment. “They hold the last hope of the Noldor. Give it to Galadriel.”

Celebrimbor smiled bitterly. “She would not accept gifts from me. Let alone gifts of this… nature.”

“Really? Have you tried?”

“No, but… her pride…”

“She wants what we all want. To keep our people safe. To make a better world, another chance.”

Gil-galad saw Celebrimbor’s sceptical expression. “I will write to her, if that would make it easier. But the power of these…” he gestured towards the rings “…must be spread out. For the good of us all.”

Celebrimbor nodded, his face grave. Wordlessly, Gil-galad poured two glasses of wine from the decanter that stood on a side table, handing one to Celebrimbor. Then he opened the glazed doors that led to the balcony. They leant against the railings, watching the quiet but ceaseless stirring of the sea, sipping their wine in thoughtful silence.

“I’m sorry I hit you” muttered Gil-galad. “Sometimes I feel…” he gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “Too much of the fire in me, I suppose. And in you.” He looked at Celebrimbor keenly again, a question in his eyes. Gil-galad sighed. “The ring of water it will be for me” he said. “Safer that way. And also… to remember my father.”

“Do you think you will ever see him again?”asked Celebrimbor.  _And do you want to?_ He did not speak the thought.

Gil-galad’s face was stony. “I do not know.” In that moment Celebrimbor got the impression that Gil-galad knew exactly what he had been thinking, and was answering both questions at once.

“I should go” he said quickly.

“Perhaps you should” replied Gil-galad, unable to hide a hint of relief.

Celebrimbor drained the remainder of his glass. “Goodnight my King. May your realm be safe and prosperous.”

Gil-galad did not look at him as he spoke, but continued staring out at the ocean contemplatively. “And you, dear cousin. And you.”


End file.
